


Seas, trees and velvet night

by insufficient_fishes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29628996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insufficient_fishes/pseuds/insufficient_fishes
Summary: Otherwise titled, things that don't make sense (but will).The quiet of the store drifted. Peaceful-like. Relaxed, but not slack.Crowley needed something to do.Aziraphale placed the book on a hand table. The ocean folded away. Something quickened in Crowley.The angel leant back and eyed him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Seas, trees and velvet night

There was a velvet about him. As if he'd cut a sliver of arctic midnight and slipped into it. Which didn’t make sense.

How could an angel remind you of midnight?

He was soft like a final breath was soft, weathered as the mast of an old galleon – hewn from some endless Lebanese Cedar. Maybe he was simply self-possessed – those defining years given a human form. Quiet confidence limned along eyelashes. Two hands shoved into pockets and comfortable like that.

He extended beyond body, but didn’t fill the room. The bookshop he inhabited moulded him. Unread afterwords, a corner that should have been an end, these looked like him.

The angel curled himself into the chair with a book. The book was important. The book is always important. 20,000 leagues under the sea. Who knew if the angel actually performed any miracles, but Crowley could’ve sworn that the bookshop smelt like salt, adventure, briny bodies. He could’ve sworn that out the window, something huge glimmered, deep in the dark. Maybe the night hung closer to the window, as if pressure could be carried into open skies and wrapped around homes. Maybe the stars had fallen to incandescence and spiny flashes of bioluminescence. Maybe in this new world, red no longer existed. Maybe there really was a whale hanging in the sky. 

It was hardly as impossible as the rest of this evening. An angel reminiscent of black, in a bookshop rolling in the heart of a sea, in the company of a demon whose breath definitely didn’t catch when the angel glanced at him. No, sky whales were not so extraordinary. 

The quiet of the store drifted. Peaceful-like. Relaxed, but not slack. Crowley needed something to do. Aziraphale placed the book on a hand table and the ocean folded away. Something quickened in Crowley. The angel leant back and eyed him. His pale eyes glinted with warmth in the lamplight.

“How did we survive?” The angel mused, his eyes far away, his face soft in an ancient wonder. “How were we that lucky?” 

Crowley couldn’t answer. His voice dredged deep in his throat, an anchor. But the angel wasn’t waiting on an answer, he was standing up, the lamp behind him fuzzing his edges, throwing the world into shadow. Crowley loosened his tongue, but the angel had a hand under his chin and was tilting his head up and up and Crowley was a snake, he had always been. His instinct was to find the sun, the warmth, he couldn’t help basking. Aziraphale was bending his head, dimly Crowley was aware that this meant something. The shock however when that something arrived… Aziraphale gently kissed him, then kissed him harder. Warmth flooded his chest and the pressure against his jaw, of Aziraphale gripping him, of being tucked somewhere precious and safe, he could barely fight an urge to curl and curl and catch on fire. Crowley pressed back, feeling filled with action. He pulled the angel down onto the couch and slithered right up to him. When hands tangled in his hair he nearly shouted, his fingers crooked in a shirt, Aziraphale a good weight around him – Aziraphale broke off the kiss, to smile. Crowley didn’t scowl, he was feeling too full. The two stared at each other, breathing deeply. Crowley felt the ends of his hair sparking, as if all the iron within him had fused. He was a living faraday cage, slim and electric and the jolt of it all was firing around every extremity. When he spoke, his voice was ragged.

“I’ve got nothing very pithy to say right now.” He paused for breath. “Apparently it can be kissed out of me.” And Aziraphale had the decency to look delighted, as if Crowley had got it all right, as if him being breathless and coltish was all that the angel had ever needed. 

“I’m gratified to know that I have improved since the Olde Boar and Beedle.” The angel said, wickedly. Crowley pushed off the sofa arm, prowling a little bit. 

“Don’t bring that up. Mistakes must be made at some point.” Crowley slipped a hand under the ridiculous waistcoat he insisted on wearing. Pushed him into the cushions, paused just above him. He felt suddenly shy. “D’you – d’you think I can kiss you.” Aziraphale smiled again, indulgently. 

“For a demon, you can be unbearably good.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed to slits. He threw caution to the wind and kissed the angel anyway. The soft breath before the Aziraphalelifted his chin had Crowley shivering. He dug his fingers into velvet hair, white and mussed, enjoying the groan, the way his angel’s throat flickered. Crowley kept his eyes open and didn’t care to mention anything when the couch was thrust up in the limbs of a mighty tree. The world around them in shades of blue, framed by branches. The clock struck midnight. 

Somewhere, deep in night and over uncountable leagues, a whale song might have been heard.

**Author's Note:**

> Do leave a little note, or some kudos. It really does help.


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